another weekend

For a while, perhaps in last spring or the winter before, I used to go to Brown bookstore to spend Saturday afternoons. I would get a cup of coffee from Starbucks and then walk to the bookstore. Find a comfy seat, put coffee aside, put down my bag to claim THE SEAT. Go around the bookshelves, pick up a bunch of books with interesting covers and titles (yes in that order), get all of them to MY seat. Leaf through the first chapters or the first pages, put back the not so interesting ones, and hide the few interesting ones between me and the arm-rest of the chair. Start to R-E-A-D. ahh!!! Long and complete exhale, following an inhale of air mixed with the nice smell of ink on paper, excited to get into a new adventure.

Usually I would find about 2 or 3 "interesting" books. As I started to get excited reading the first one, I got anxious and impatient and want to read the other books. I kept thinking, "perhaps the other books are even more interesting." "oh, this one is too long, i won't even finish the first chapter for the whole afternoon." But then when I started to read the other ones, I got equally restless, perhaps I should just go back and focus on reading the first one, then at least I would probably finish one sooner.

But most of the time I would be in perfect peace. 'cause the books I picked up are ususally either photo albums of a photographer, or painting pieces of a painter, or some other easy-to-read stuff. I don't like to read fictions there, i don't like to stop in the middle of a story, no matter how bad it is. Sometimes I find biographies intriguing: how other people think and what they do, and more importantly I have the upper hand, as soon as things got boring, I'd just simply close the book and end their paper lives. Sometimes, I am just captivated by the words, the language. so beautiful expression. To those words magician, nothing is inexpressible. It was one of the most inspirational periods I had for the past couple of dark years. Often I got really exhausted in the middle of the afternoon. too many words, ideas, expressions, impressive paintings, images bombarding and colliding in my brain. It's like overdose of caffeine, I got really shaky and had to force myself to walk around to calm down. Everytime, when the bookstore was about to close, I walked out holding the empty coffee cup, felt an undescribable satisfactory fullness yet my steps light and shaky. ah. how I miss those days. Even though, after walking out of the bookstore, I would always immediately remember that I still have yet this and that experiment waiting to be done, or that another long meaningless jobless frustrating week ahead till next Saturday.

oh well. Can't even remember how long ago that was. now, instead of going to the bookstore, I do nothing. I don't even want to step out of the door. I just sleep. endless sleep, sleep through the day, sleep through the night. It is just another one of these weekends, spent without a faintest trace. (How sad. powerless to do anything to make it slightly more interesting.)

my long due entry

ah! my blog. glad to find it's still here after this big drought.

decide to blog again. nothing wise to write at this moment. (must pay more attention to things around me and record them!) But I just had my wisdom tooth removed earlier this week. perhaps that's why I am suddenly even duller.

I want to eat Brownies! lots of them.

My dream job No.1

(If I shamelessly assume that I have some sort of artistic talent, despite the bleak real situation.) would be an artist. not just any artist. but an artist that OWNs a large studio. well in fact two, so that I can have one studio for exhibition or large scale installation, while in the other one I would be experimenting on a new project. It'd be even nice if both studios are in the same artistic building, and if i could live on top floor with a roof that opens to the starry sky.

don't pinch me. I'm dreaming.

You're going to reap just what you sow

just a perfect day,
Drink Sangria in the park,
And then later, when it gets dark,
We go home.
Just a perfect day,
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later, a movie, too,
And then home.

Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.

Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone,
Weekenders on our own.
It's such fun.
Just a perfect day,
You made me forget myself.
I thought I was someone else,
Someone good.

You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow...

......

Just a perfect day, though i didn't spend it in the park drinking sangria, or in the zoo feeding animals. I was walking to school to meet friends for sunday brunch. but it was a perfect day anyway. spring breeze, soft sunshine, sweet flowers, intoxicating fragrances...; two little boys selling lemonade for free on the street, sitting on their knees behind their cute little "counter", golden hair glistening in the sun, stars glittering in their eyes. They are brothers. The little one apparently enjoyed very much people gathering around and talked excitedly. The older one, about 5, much more quietly, poured me a cup of lemonade. Father asked: "Simon, what are you selling the lemonade for?" Simon: "f...f......" The father: "yes. free. but you have to do what?" Both of them: "you have to be good to people." I took the cup Simon handed to me. He looked at me shyly, big eyes with a bit anticipation but more of curiosity: this big girl looks different, would she like my lemonade? what a cute boy! I took a sip, hmm-- fresh, cool, crisp. I drank it up and he smiled. a perfect smile.

storm

as summer is closer and closer, temperature gets higher and higher, i have been questioning, hmm... what is the excuse now, since the weather is getting nicer, for the school swimming pool to remain a forbidden place. I had uselessly hoped many times that somebody or many somebodyS would protest and the swimming pool would then open very soon. I mean, there will be no heavy snow or ice to crash the roof anyway. Well, I guess in that sense, the storm came just in time to prove that i was wrong. haha... what a good feeling it is being important, even just self-important.

The storm was pretty bad. My little apartment on top floor shaked quite a bit. I did start to imagine all kinds of possibilities. For instance, if my apartment would be somehow destroyed by the storm... although that would actually make me homeless, and i would lose all the cute stuff i have here but all the not-so-cute stuff or the not-so-happy incidents would be also taken away completely. oh well... i guess the conclusion is that the house needs to be renovated, better be concrete structure.

The woman's locker room in YMCA has been closed for the whole week, while the storm kept sending water inside through the leaking roof. Water drips, hits, and splashes, what a symphony! So the family locker room was assigned to us. There were three rooms, all occupied. So I was just holding my towel and shower stuff, waiting in the line. A mom was helping her little daughter to dry her hair and put on her coat and shoes. There was also screaming from inside of one of the bath room. And then, this little girl, who's about 6 or 7 (can't tell), started to say to her mom: "that kid... has been screaming ever since we got into the bathroom.... so loud, so annoying......" Her mom: "I don't want to hear it. stop right there. Do not ......" Don't remember exactly what they said. The overheard conversation struck me like a little storm though. Kids... mother... what a difficult job!

I do remember one other storm in New Orleans. Well, not the catastrophic Katrina. I was sleeping soundly in the hotel room, didn't feel a thing, no shaking no whatever. While heading to the airport the next morning, I was shocked to see so many trees knocked down by the storm, with bare roots landing the streets, lifelessly.

danger!

you think you can hide. but you can't!

I am such an asshole. Why? why i started to feel annoyed? why can't I just laugh at it and shrug off? Why can't I like people around me? what's wrong with those people? or rather what's wrong with me? I AM capable of putting up with insignificant things. Why get serious then? but do I have to? do I need to? I don't know...

I think I can hide. But should I?

丢失

丢在哪里了？
那个偶尔看看书的人，涩涩的书
丢在哪里了？
那个偶尔写写诗的人，酸酸的诗

什么时候？
那个偶尔忧郁的人，成了这个孤单的人
什么时候？
那个偶尔想象的人，成了这个麻木的人

今天哭得厉害

有那样东西在那里，反复地让我患得患失。又另一样东西在那里，反复地让我患得患失。只好努力转移注意力。看到地铁超人的事迹，忍不住痛哭。有时候生死悬于一霎那。幸者是英雄。不幸者也是英雄。幸运的英雄多好啊。英雄本就该是幸运的。英雄本就该对着死神自信的微笑，你奈何不了我的。英雄本就会勇敢的向死神挑战，无惧得失。

为那样东西我患得患失的搞间谍行动，肯定否定否定肯定。一无所获，疲惫不堪。为另样东西我患得患失的看文章，十个字到了眼睛，却只有一个近得了脑子。一无所获，疲惫不堪。唉，每天被患得患失患得患失的折磨着。只有哭的时候才真切感觉到或得或失，反而无惑而痛快。

归根结底还是勇气的缺失罢----没有勇气拨开迷雾，走向“失”，不回头。以为有了迷雾的遮盖，便可以自欺欺人的认为那个方向牌可能指的是往“得”而去。

留下？还是逃跑？

最近想逃跑的意愿越来越强烈。即使没有真的逃走掉，身心却已经彻底的松懈下来了。脑子可以刻意地不做任何和工作有关的思想活动。老板可以不见就尽量躲着，反正他忙得自顾不暇。放纵自己把时间消耗在连轴的电视电影上，在四处闲逛上。可以每天消耗一个小时在游泳池，眼睛躲在反光的游泳镜片后面，挥舞四肢，在水里吐泡泡，换气，挥舞四肢，在水里吐泡泡，换气，机械的重复。把自己搞得疲惫不堪，倒在床上便死睡过去。哪里有时间做大脑运动。哪里会给夜机会沉沉地唤醒悲伤，让自己辗转反侧然后痛哭流泪。

我想做逃兵。却又不甘心这么快便逃了。其实也不快啊。但是时间也不短啊。没有足够努力的尝试啊。试了啊，时间就是在不停的尝试当中消逝的。再耐心一点点啊，也许马上就可以见到曙光了呢。每次都是这样安慰自己，可是每次又都是落空。都试了这么多次了，时间精力都搭进去了，这个时候逃跑不是前功尽弃了吗？可是接着再试再不成功，浪费的时间精力不是更多吗？你怎么知道这次就一定是浪费了呢？当然其实我还没有完全下定决心是因为一则我没有自己想象得那么勇敢，二来逃到哪里去呢？...... 自己和自己的对话可以无停歇的进行下去，却没有办法说服任何一个自己。

唉，睡觉了去吧。

想起今天是某人生日，这一折就当是给他的了，虽然没有快乐的语调。只是希望我们都能更加勇敢坚强一些。现代人其实很vulnerable。比较起来，林黛玉都算不了什么了。

"behind the headlines"

is a talk show on one of the most influential TV channels in China. The idea of the show is that the host invites two other more or less celebrated guests and talk about the headline news like casual chatting, in light atmostphere, but not entirely without any seriousness. Sometimes even very unorthodox opinion can be heard, which is quite daring, considering in China rigorous media censorship is applied everywhere. The show has been out for more than one year and became quite popular by now. But I got to know it only till earlier today. sigh, what a shame!

The reason that drives me to search something about China online, something more contemporary, more relevant, more reflectable, or more meaningful to my standard, is that I am becoming more and more estranged and unaware of what are happening in the busy and fast-pacing home country and start to fear that I might be too outdated, too "behind the headlines".

"behind the headlines" is then a natural choice for me to try to catch up a little bit, but also helps to avoid the painful reading of obscure messages in the newspaper.

Two episodes I've watched. And two episodes I will probably ever watch. In the first episode i watched, they talked about Saddam Hussein's execution. And the suicide rate of college students in China is getting higher in the second one. I have to say, these are "good" topics, not necessarily something "good" about those incidents, but they provide "good" materials to talk about. But much to my disappointment, by the end of the two episodes, I was so frsutrated and so worried so uneasy that I had to say something to shift the worries and put down the uneasiness, if that can be done.

The first one, about Hussein's execution. It might well be my poor comprehensive ability. But I just couldn't tell what message they were trying to convey or they sent out any at all. The three kept talking about their sympathy towards Hussein who didn't get the right treatment, not even right before and after he died. I was waiting and waiting, to hear the word "human rights", to hear that even a to-be-executed criminal should have his basic rights as a human being. But I didn't. I knew to talk about human rights in china a decade ago is like to talk about hungry tigers and everybody gets frightened and depressed. I wanted to hear some clear message, such as, that it is fair and rightful to feel sympathetic towards a dying human being and to accuse the hangman's lack of humanity while the execution of a criminal, convicted through "lawful and justified" trial process, should be supported wholeheartedly as well. But I didn't. I don't know, perhaps inexplicit knowledge and not to be clear-cut is the nowadays fashion?

The second one about the college students' suicide rate. I was literally shoved off the chair. There was a girl guest, who's about the same age as me, who got famous because of her role as a teenager girl in China's 1st ever sitcom in early 90's. A funny girl, loves to laugh. But what bothers me is that she laughed through the discussion especially when she talked about a college student who commited suicide and declared that the suicidals are nothing else but weak or abnormal. What I couldn't understand is how she can still laugh while talking about loss, permanently, of a young life.

ironically, the suicide epidose was aired just one day earlier than the other one. Otherwise, I might have been able to hear something i had missed: some leftover sympathy.

a little sad. If "behind the headlines" is indeed the cansual chattings about personal sentiments or some meaningless gossips but no real concern about appeals for more societal attention or sincere effort for possible means to solve or mitigate the problems, I would rather be "behind the headlines". I hope the next show i'll bump into will be a little more cheerful.

以前写的

只是今天心情实在太糟糕，不得不发泄一下，排出一点点内心的垃圾。 下午和晚上又找了若干人抱怨。真是不好。什么时候开始我成了这么啰里啰唆的人了呢。我以前好像不爱抱怨的，想起来似乎还有那种打碎了牙齿往肚里吞好了的义气豪情。现在倒好，见人就开始倒垃圾，活脱脱又一个祥林嫂。浪费自己时间不说，还要白白搭上别人的。 所幸抱怨完了，还能从聪明的人那里得到一些理解，从善良的人那里得到一些宽慰，从聪明且善良的人那里得到一些建设性建议，从不那么聪明不那么善良的人那里得到一些怜悯的目光。不管得到什么，可以肯定的是，就那么一些材料，抱怨的次数多了，什么表象的浅显的隐藏的潜在的肮脏的腌臜的新奇的深层的东西都挖掘完了。于是心情似乎好点。虽然，其实，问题还是在那里；而我被立定在前的它和接踵而至的它们，虎视着，挑衅着，斜睨着，嘲笑着。
跑到这里来又倒了一次垃圾，对不起观众了，即使不是人人都能看得明白中文。我只是自私天真的希望着：把自己的耳朵蒙住，眼睛盖上，我就可以暂时不用理会；心里的垃圾倒出来，美梦便不会被破坏被排挤。想像这样一种情景，阿Q用着Scarlet的口气说：after all... tomorrow is another day.

three and half humours

I read a funny Chinese article today. The female writer, who is apparently a big fan of Hippocrates and his four humors theory, had dated a few guys but found out, disappointedly enough, that none of them was not of Choleric type. The funny part is, she concluded then that all the dating websites could have done a much better job if they would include each member's 4 humors checkup info, rather than putting too much effort in trying to trick the members revealing their 3 measurements. With the 4 humors info in hand, it can in fact be an excellent guide for social interaction, for example, do not get angry with people who have a little redundant yellow bile; do not date Phlegmatic guys; try to balance the right amount of black bile, a little more then gloomy, a little less then gaudy. And since nobody is happy anyway, this is an era marked by global collective anemia.

haha..... here is my humours profile;

phlegm: 30%
yellow bile: 30%
black bile: 30%
blood: 10%
summary: DANGER! away from the subject!

but I think I am oftenly happy. I am especially happy after a delicious fulfilling meal. Just like the way how Mosquitos feel, supremely happy when they get abundant blood supply. A question is, though, Mosquitos are really happy because they've got lots of blood or they are not happy and need blood because they actually suffer from anemia all the time?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_humours

Spoiled

This is a dream I had last night. Somehow I and the other girls from my college class gathered together in a ridiculously small kitchen and were preparing a meal together. Although which in reality would not likely happen any time soon, I did wish i could hear again the sound of water briskly streaming down the faucet, in that small crowded kitchen. Everybody was happy and we chatted, randomly, aimlessly, meaninglessly, just like what we would do a few years ago. It really takes no effort to picture how everybody talks, 'cause they've been tatooed in my mind. Then J said something, with her usual tone, calm, sometimes a little sardonic. But somehow these words upsetted my ears, in a way, i don't remember at all. They sounded colder than calm, as if they were blown off her nose. They sounded tired, as if they took lots of effort to finally get through. So i said something back. And of course she said something back again. Although i have no idea what she and I had said up to this point, what she said then, right at that moment, saddened me so much that i woke up right away. And even upon having realized that was just a dream, the burden of sadness still didn't get a bit off my head at all.

She said: YQ, you are getting spoiled!

S--P--O--I--L--E--D! The whole day, this was roaring in my ears, in every minute of peace I get between works. It was so devastateingly sad that i surrendered myself immediately and completely lost the will to analyze. Untill later, after I have stuffed myself a huge cookie with chunks of chocolates in it, I mustered a little courage to look at it and think through. I started to ask what exactly getting spoiled means? Am I like a box of Tofu curd, left at a wretched place, getting spoiled? Though she seemed to mean that I'm so screwed up but i don't even know it myself. But I thought i knew. Were there more problems that I haven't realized yet. I do not have the guts to look at my problems so i insist on ignoring them, pretending they don't exist? But I am trying to look up. oh so confusing! I better ask her later tonight when I sleep. But i'm not sad any more. hmm. yummm... chocolate is good.

第三件事情和星期天

星期天于我而言总是无一例外的灰色。今天当然也是，尤其是。今天我突然意识到这些天来我一直很难过的真正原因。一言以蔽之：在我希望得到一个怀抱以依靠一小会的时候，我没能得到；在我仍然希望着的时候，却发现这其实是一个多么可望而不可即的奢望。就好像生病了却没有可心的人来照顾自己的时候，自然是很难过落寞。即使是稍后身子好了，心里面挥之不去的还是当时的自怨自怜。

一直试图说服自己，没有什么坎是迈不过去的。如果是从来都一帆风顺的人，碰上一件稍稍棘手的事情，恐怕便觉得是世界末日，怨天尤人。稍后若要同时处理两件麻烦事，回头看，却觉得只有一件事情要处理其实很幸运。我现在努力安慰着自己，还好没有第三件很麻烦的事情呢，所以两件事情也没什么的呀。这样子想实际上并没有对事情困难程度有任何减缓。但是也许可以让自己耐心一点，一步一步慢慢来。要冷静一些，勇敢一些，振作一些。可是心里还是会不由自主地发虚，然后又被紧张不安胀满。心虚的难受，飘飘的。胀的也难受，沉沉的。很难受。难受到无能为力。无能为力到绝望。绝望到丧失勇气。真的无能为力，我所做得依然只是麻痹自己，彻底逃跑。

晚上发现以前坏掉的手机奇迹般的好了。哈哈。也许绝处逢生真是有道理的。察看以前自己写的短信，发现这么一段话：化成了糊，没有思想；化成了泥，没有力气。化成了自己在无力哭泣；化成了自己在快乐再堕落。忘记掉前一封相关短信具体写了什么了，无非是和那一段感情有关的。虽然是完全不相干的事情，这些话用在现时我的处境倒也一点不过时。我每天花费时间和精力于无病呻吟。于走出困境全无帮助。或许可以说是缺乏勇气，或许可以说是无能为力。那么就让我再一次自欺欺人地说：it is the suffereing that makes you a beautiful person. 那么就让我满心盼望着第三件事情的到来吧。

a glove called clover

it didn't have a name. i named it after i lost it. It had nothing to do with clover either. i just thought of if there would be a pretty five-leaf clover ever.

but i still have one glove left and don't know what to do with it. I don't want to put it high on the shelf in closet, 'cause that way it does nothing but to collect dust. I don't want to not to put it away so that i can see it often and be reminded that i lost clover. I don't want to just throw it away, so that i'll have to name it also later on and bear the name of heartless that i forced a pair of cute gloves to separate. I don't want to pair it up with other single gloves not only that would look ridiculous but it is indeed very ridiculous.

i wonder where clover is. i am worried. it may get no shelter. raindrops will drench it. sunlight will wither it. wind can tear it. lightning can scare it. I don't know if it cries for company. i wonder why i didn't just lose both of them. that way at least they can be with each other.

my treasure box

i have a collection of precious things. they bring back good times, memorable times. these are times when they make me smile. times when they make me cry. times when they make me tougher. times when they make me feel that i matter.

the most recent treasure i put into my treasure box is "I'm just sad and depressed for you... if you need someone to be there, I'll be more than happy to." a few words i heard earlier today between 6:50pm and 7pm in office.

I can't remember very well exactly when i collected the rest of my treasures though. But more importantly i do remember what all these treasures meant to me each single time when i acquired them. There was a hug I got from K when i felt really bad after talking to the boss. There was a grab of my arm from Z when the suddenly turning bus almost swung me to the floor. There was a phone call I got from J when i was stressed out upon graduating from college. There were a few words that i heard while watching movie JFK with M...... so many of them. i can never finish the list. i'm just thankful too all these precious things. even when i couldn't correlate any of these precious items with any current ongoing issue, i would still be basking myself in the shine of my treasure box.

lost in translation

is a movie that does not make a bit sense to happy people but certainly shakes lots of senses out of people who otherwise are not so happy. I almost forgot about it since I have been trying so hard to pretend that I'm indeed a happy person, to the extent I even fooled myself into believing in that. Yet when it was mentioned over a casual conversation a few days ago, I had no place to hide, the sounds of loneliness echoed in my ears, the images of silence flashed in my head.

Got back home, went ahead to my movie corner, dug out the movie, dusted the dvd box, put the movie into the player, sat down and watched it again... I can't say the sadness one would pile up upon discovering some cruel reality was heavy enough. But the buoyant steam of the tea i made at starting the movie did turn into coldness in the end.

it is just unbearable to even imagine a tiny bit that how love can so easily slip away from people who were once in love. and how confusing and vulnerable people can be when they get lost. I was lost once in the busy streets of new york city. It was a sunny afternoon. I was walking on the sideway. and happy i think. And all of a sudden, a flow of bitterness run over me. it was probably more like a stroke, with one heart beat missing. I was lost in the roaring crowd. I didn't understand why there were so many people appearing on the same spot at the same time. and Why did i need to be here in this foreign city. why and why these people, this city had anything to do with me. would i be able to came out of the crowd or do i even want to come out at all? The high-rise buidlings on the sides of the busy streets were quiet. They didn't answer me. Probably they've seen enough and are tired of it. They just casted their equaly silent shadows down. but the shadows were so heavy on my shoulder. I could not find a way out. I could not see the sky. I could not breathe. Sure, it was only a moment of sadness. yet it was powerful enough to hit me into a momentary paralysis. Everything seemed so strange so intimidating. I was lost.

The ending of the movie was sort of a happy one though. They kissed, a memorable kiss of many meanings. They each then went back to their own normal life, knowing that they were found by each other at the times when they were lost. and the sweet warm memory will be alive ever.

addict

to some extent, more or less, slightly more or slightly less, a lot more or a lot less, everybody is an addict. And I'm just the biggest addict ever. I rely on so many things so much so surprisingly that I'd completely turn into an ugly stack of skeleton if I ever lose any one of my addictions.

For example the first thing i do after getting to work is to turn on my computer and surf online. More often than not, after i finished checking a few regularly visited websites, I immediately found myself in emptiness. sigh. not knowing what to do. not knowing what to think about. the typical symptom: anxiety--what to do what to do---->depression--nothing to do nothing to do---->momentary momentum--find something to do find something to do---->impatience--can't find anything to do can't find anything to do---->surrender--there is nothing to do there is nothing to do---->complete despair--i'll just read whatever meaningless things i just read a few minutes ago.

I guess maybe i'm not addictive to lots of thing but just addictive to doing meaningless things although i might sound detesting this idea yet subconsciously and practically never stop exercising it. But indeed what a great addiction it is! if i could just sleep on problems i better face. what a great addiction it is! if I could just not worry about finding solutions. what a great addiction it is! even if it's just one minute of peace. what a great addiction it is! if i could just keep feeding myself candies! who needs to know there is bitterness anyway?

i better go sleep again! and sleep good sleep lot! at least in dreams i see heaven, where people only addict to meaningful things, very meaningful.

2 discoveries

I'm not sure what other people do when they have a difficult time to fall asleep, for various reasons. As for me, i don't count the white fluffy sheep, I don't get up and drink warm milk, I don't read obscure stuff to depress my active neurons, I don't indulge myself in the calm relaxing stress-relief crap, also called aromatherapy... I took pills once or twice...I drank alcohol several times...although both were under extreme conditions. But more than often, i don't really do anything, just close my eyes, wait... and wait...ing...... peacefully blankly, or not so with occasional toss-and-turns, until sleepbugs strike. Yet one night, while i was doing the same routine, allowing myself doing nothing thinking of nothing, I opened my eyes. I couldn't say exactly why, other than i was curious if I was able to "see" myself falling asleep. Perhaps... in fact the split second I opened my eyes wide and looked up, i started picturing scenes already. I see light in darkness! I see yellowish white halo above my head! and no, I was not dreaming. It wasn't illusional. and yes I was still awake. It was real. There they were, on the slanted wall, shinny stars right above me. One, two, three.... 12 of them. Instinctively, i reached out my hand......

If i stop right here, I'd only remember what a nice surprise it was although people would think that i'm crazy. and if i go on... the boring nature of almost everything lashes out. No mercy in diligently whipping my rebellious mind-adventure... so... maybe i shall not finish up the story by telling that the shiny stars were actually fluorescence paper cut into star-shapes sticking to the wall... oops...

perhaps i will get more of those cute little stars... if beaten enough.

1st entry

Sitting in the present, looking at the past. sadness happiness... the vivid colors the crysp voices once flourishing, all faded away, irretrievable eventually. nothing seems to have ever existed. except all the illusions filled in one's mind, or memories, if you prefer to call it that way.

but memories, memory might be the biggest lier ever. I always wonder: if my eyes and my ears switch locations, if my heart and my mind swap places, and i am still this honest person to myself, would my memory, those images, those voices, still be the same?

and how sad it is to be able to go back to space but never time? On the seashore, I picked up a rock, inscribed with characters i can't recognize.